Home Invasion
by Packmasta
Summary: <html><head></head>A group of friends come together to overcome overwhelming odds and defend their home.  A Homefront fan fiction.</html>


It was a hot spring day, but then again, so are most spring days in Arizona. There was a light breeze, the pool outside was clear and glistening, and it was peacefully quiet for a weekend afternoon. Then, suddenly, the sound of laughter mixed with obscene insults filled the air, shattering the serenity and the beautiful day outside for any and all who were subjected to it. Those piercing sounds seemed to be coming from an upstairs window, slightly opened, that overlooked the neglected pool where three young men were apparently either enjoying themselves immensely, or angered beyond belief. Upon a closer look, the three were playing a video game, Halo to be more precise, and the noises were to be expected.

The assumed "leader" of this group was commanding the center of the couch they were playing on and had a look that could kill as he stared down the TV in front of them. He was a man of an average height with a stocky figure, hair tousled at a medium length, and a rather serious composure. Not only did he lead and inspire this little team, but he played to win and was extremely cool under pressure, however imaginary or self-imposed it might be. On his left was his complete opposite, a shorter kid with goofy looking facial expressions. Differing from the leader, he relied more on sheer tenacity than composure and skill. His hair was buzzed short and it showed that he was the youngest of this group, though just as capable as the others, if not more so. His only downside was a short fuse and a wicked temper. Lastly, on the right of the leader was a taller young man, with the longest hair of the group, dyed blue. His personality acted as a buffer for the group, helping to prevent the other two from butting heads too often, and he helped keep them on task. He had a more mellow personality, making him the perfect match to diffuse any violent tempers. These young men gelled together perfectly to form this group, and would win game after game until they decided it was time for a break.

And right now was one of those times. After putting the finishing touches on their previous opponent (humiliating them with insults and t-bagging, of course) they decided to go out to get some dinner, as it was way overdue. They all piled into the younger mans truck and headed off down the road to Chili's, a favorite restaurant of the group. On the way, the blue haired young man was flipping through the radio when he stopped and smiled after hearing their favorite song to sing along to, Sweet Caroline. They jumped right in and soon the car was filled with the sounds of "holding hands…" and mixed laughter. As they neared the restaurant they noticed the sky turning a dark reddish color, but shrugged it off and soon found a place to park. Upon heading inside they stopped and were dumbfounded; everyone inside was huddled around a TV near the bar watching some special report. The three moved closer to the TV, and no sooner than the leader of the group was going to ask someone what was going on, did the news anchor give him the answer. Coupled with images of destruction, he explained how areas all over the east coast were under attack, and that an unknown number of bombs had detonated with increasing frequency over the last 15 minutes. This was the quickest and largest attack in history, and yet the source was still unknown. The broadcast was suddenly cut off by an announcement that the President would be giving a radio address in a few moments. The restaurant began to stir into a panic after hearing the news, and seconds later, the emergency warning system's loudspeaker began to blare but there was no time to get to safety. Hell, they could barely make it ten feet if they wanted to. Most of the people around them were frozen in fear. Only the leader of the little gaming group could manage to break this trance and try to get to safety, pushing and pulling his two friends with him. They had finally made it to the front door when a massive explosion hit the building next to them. The explosion and shockwaves quickly engulfed the restaurant they were in. They tried to take cover under a table, but the building soon started to collapse. As a deafening noise filled their ears and their worlds started to go black, they began to think back.

The leader of the group's name was Greg Jackson, and home for him was a little town in Connecticut by the water. All his life he lived there, from birth to present. He had been a big soccer star, the captain of three consecutive state cup teams, up until his junior year of high school, where he was injured physically, on the field, and emotionally, by his high school sweetheart. Her name was Aleisha, but everyone called her Alei, and they had been involved for three years after she broke it off. It had broken his heart more than anything ever had. He had been battered and even after recovery and physical therapy gave up on soccer and began a sedimentary lifestyle. He changed his friends, his life, and his career to hang out with people who enjoyed his new found interests, gaming, gaming and more gaming. After trying many different types of online games, Greg found he excelled at shooting games, though his current friends in high school were woefully inadequate as his team members. They were poor skill wise and took orders improperly. Greg wanted more, wanted to lead a team he could be proud of, taking his soccer mentality into the gaming world. He began to branch out, feeling out people he played with online for potential "squad mates". It wasn't long until he found Jimmy, the youngest member of the group, and a trusted ally on the virtual battlefield. Jimmy McNamara was from New York, a city boy in every sense of the phrase. His interests also pushed him into the gaming arena, and his drive and skill pushed him to not only be the best, but find the best to play with. His love of competition and winning came from football, a sport he loved and played all through high school. He was a promising middle linebacker, where his tenacity really shined, enabling him to make some vicious hits. This viciousness also transferred over into Halo, most times with good results. After coming across Greg, the two were able to come together easily to succeed in total domination of any game they stepped into. Their only problem was having more teammates to rely on. It was Jimmy's eye and unique personality that brought the third member of the team, Eric, to join in their little band. Eric Waldron was always a huge halo enthusiast and he knew the most by far about Halo lore and storyline. His love of the genre and love of being a Spartan in Halo really put him into the game and made him into a better player. Other than Halo, he loved drawing and graphic design. It is this passion that makes him such a creative thinker on the team, and such a mellow guy to smooth out the fights others sometimes got in. He would sometimes think of an idea that Greg would not due to his creativity, and with it became a valued member of the team. He also found that Jimmy's skill and Greg's leadership made their team a perfect place to really be part of something, and something that he loved.

Greg was the first to come to. His vision started to clear up and he honestly wished it hadn't. He could clearly see the outline of an unknown soldier standing over the wreckage, looking for survivors. He tried to remain as still as possible to avoid detection. Eric was the next to wake, and immediately Greg made a quick silent motion to tell Eric to stay still. Greg then pointed to the back of the soldier and Eric froze, clearly wondering what exactly was going on. Jimmy groggily started to wake himself, but unfortunately was blocked from view from the others. He let out a loud groan, and the soldier quickly turned and faced where the noise came from. Jimmy noticed this, and Greg quickly tried to think of how to free his friend from whatever horrible fate this armed man had in mind. As the soldier approached a pinned Jimmy, Greg brushed his hand over a piece of drywall big enough to inflict some damage. Needing a well aimed first throw, he cocked his arm back as much as possible and threw the drywall as hard as he could. It struck the soldier on the side of his head, knocking him to the ground in a crumpled heap. All three sighed relief but remained on guard. Clearly something big was going on here, that was no U.S. soldier and he looked like part of an invasion force. They all tried to put this fear out of their minds for the time being. In the meantime, Jimmy succumbed to his wounds and was knocked unconscious, and Eric had squirmed his way free of the debris and moved over to Greg to help free him as well. He had a large beam on his chest and though their combined efforts were enough to move it, he was clearly injured by its weight on his ribs, and got up slowly.

However, getting Jimmy free was going to be another story. He had a large divider and booth section on top of him, as well as shards of glass all around him from the window. There was also a ceiling panel between them, so Greg and Eric would have to find a way through it first before they could work on freeing Jimmy. Greg yelled over to Jimmy to get his attention, but there was no response. "This doesn't look good man," Eric informed Greg, "And what the hell happened anyway?" "I wish I knew. Gotta be an invasion, the news had said there were attacks on the east coast. I just never thought anything like this would happen in the U.S.," Greg replied. "No way! We have to check out that guy's uniform then and tell someone…wait. Is anyone left?" Eric cried out. "Again, no idea. Let's keep our wits, we have to free Jimmy and get the hell out of here. Who knows how many more of them are out there. We can strategize once we are safe," Greg said. He was clearly in pain and relying on survival instincts that he drew from gaming. He was a natural leader and Eric was happy to follow his advice; after all he had always led them to victory in Halo, this might not be so different. After a long pause, Greg slowly moved over to the ceiling panel and inspected it. The panel appeared to be fairly heavy, but it had collapsed to the point where it could be broken up easily enough. Unfortunately the pain was starting to overcome him; he definitely had broken at least one rib, maybe more. Greg made a few feeble attempts at kicking down the panel, then backed off and leaned against some upright rubble. "Eric did you see what I was trying to do?" Greg painfully asked him. "Yup, got your shoe imprint right there," He replied, pointing at the spot. "Alright," Greg said, "just give it a few solid kicks and it should collapse." Eric squared himself to the panel and readied his leg for the kicks. After three blows, it collapsed back towards them. "Good. Now let's see how Jimmy's doing," Greg said.

Eric easily stepped over the rubble and stood beside where Jimmy was trapped. His hand was the only visible part of him, and it definitely didn't look good. Greg, however, took some time to cross, wincing the whole way. Once Greg reached Eric they had the time to fully examine the situation, with the help of Greg's keen eyesight and strategical mind. Eric sighed out loud, but Greg kept examining the wreckage. He finally saw a plan. A beam that had collapsed in between some of the debris was keeping Jimmy stable enough, but could be used as a lever to free him. It would be tricky but easier if Jimmy was awake. "Jimmy!" Greg shouted out loud, startling Eric and barely rousing Jimmy from his incapacitation. "I'm here," Jimmy meekly replied. "Ugh this hurts. What happened?" "We'll have time to talk later Jim," Greg said reassuringly. "Save your strength, we are going to need you to help us get you free. As for right now, try moving your arms and legs." Jimmy attempted to move his extremities, and fortunately could move all but his left leg. Not only did pain shoot up his leg when he attempted to, but it appeared to be under some of the rubble. "Ahh! My leg!" Jimmy screamed out. Greg quickly shushed him and motioned for Eric to find something to prop up the beam. He could see a patrol approaching after hearing the muffled sound. While Eric positioned the beam carefully over an upturned table, Greg went to the unconscious soldier. He took his rifle, a modified SKS type 63 assault rifle with a precision scope, his sidearm, his bandolier and belt, his first aid kit, his radio and all the ammo he had, 4 clips for the SKS and 2 for the sidearm. Though he had shot rifles before at a range, this was completely different. He only hoped he would know what to do if the time came, and was happy to have some form of defense. Greg also ripped the flag from his uniform and stuffed it in his pocket. He stared blankly for a minute or two. He couldn't believe it. They were North Korean soldiers. They were attacking the U.S.

Though stunned, Greg refocused and quickly got Eric's attention and threw him the pistol, its extra ammo and the belt with the radio now clumsily attached. Their survival was more important right now. Eric holstered the pistol and stored the ammo on the belt then motioned Greg to come help with the beam. Tensions began to rise as the patrol got closer, flashlights dancing all around them. They had to do it now or never. Greg signaled to Eric that they would push on three, and prayed that not only would this work, but that Jimmy would instinctively know when to move. He couldn't risk trying to yell out to him. Greg made the finger signals clear, one, two, three! Greg and Eric quickly pushed down on the beam, raising up the rubble just enough. At the same time, Jimmy, holding back cries of pain, squirmed free. The patrol now focused their lights directly at the group after hearing the creaking and crashing of the debris. They began to run over to Jimmy's location, and Greg told Eric to get Jimmy up. Greg picked back up the SKS, threw on the bandolier with the extra magazines and started to formulate an exit strategy. To him it looked like there was no real choice. They had to make a run for it. Unfortunately, Jimmy's leg was probably shattered and he looked awful. He was in no condition to move at any great speed. As Eric helped him get to his feet, it was clear he couldn't put any weight on his left leg. Greg made his best guess on them making it out safely. The odds weren't in their favor. At least three trained soldiers were bearing down on them. And they were all uninjured. Greg's small band had absolutely no training, other than the games they played, one rifle that no one could use efficiently, and two of them were severely injured. Their only hope was a distraction. Greg made the decision instantaneously. He would take cover and try to slow down the pursuers while the other two made their escape. "Keep moving!" Greg shouted out. "Don't stop for anything! I'll slow them down!" Eric and Jimmy paused and turned. "What did I say?" Greg barked. "This is the only way! Just make sure to tell someone!" Greg then took the North Korean flag he had ripped from the soldier's uniform and handed it to Eric. "Now go!" He finally yelled, pointing to Jimmy's truck. It looked damaged but may still be operational. It was their escape and they knew it. Through teary eyes, Eric and Jimmy pressed on, knowing that this truly must be the only way. They dared not look back and see their leader alone sacrificing his life for theirs.

Greg ran back towards the restaurant, sliding into cover behind a car that caught too much of the explosion. He checked his rifle to make sure it was loaded, and to the best of his knowledge, it appeared to be. Meanwhile, the North Korean soldiers had reached the unconscious lone soldier that Greg had knocked out earlier. He appeared to be waking up, oblivious to why he was on the ground in the first place. One soldier remained with him, as the others slowly scanned the area, in the direction of the car wreck Greg was hiding behind. As they neared, Greg could make out two men in the distance. He sighed in relief, as it appeared he wasn't too badly outnumbered. But the two moved from car to car in the lot efficiently, and as they did Greg's heart began to race. He re-checked his rifle, and slowly popped his head over the car and aimed the SKS's barrel at the two patrolling soldiers. He made his breathing as shallow as possible in order to keep a steady hand, but it became difficult as they neared his position. Greg closed his eyes, opened them again and aimed carefully and slowly at the nearest soldier. He maintained his composure and squeezed the trigger down hard.

Greg's face turned to a look of surprise and shock all at once. Surprise because he had actually hit the first soldier square in the chest. Shock because the recoil mixed with the shattering sound of the rifle shook him uncontrollably. He also now knew that the SKS rifle was modified and set in a three round burst setting. It was very lucky for him that it was, for his finger was held on the trigger long enough that he would have expended the whole clip and probably hit nothing. As Greg regained his senses, he noticed the second soldier approaching him, weapon drawn. He quickly moved his sights to the soldier's midsection and squeezed the trigger. All he heard was a loud thud like the weapon had jammed. Ducking back behind the car to the sound of gunfire, he quickly tried to pull back the slide to free the jam. After a few minutes, and closer and closer pings as bullets ricocheted off the car, he was able to get the gun into working condition again. But now, under heavy fire he was unable to take a shot. Somehow, Greg managed to calm himself and look for an opening. After a few moments, he found one. As the soldier was reloading, Greg quickly slid below the car and squeezed off three rounds in succession from a prone position. Finding all of his shots missing, he tried to get out from below the car as the soldier had fully reloaded and was returning fire. However, once Greg was nearly free his clothes snagged on the underbelly of the car. He tried frantically to free himself but as he did bullets started ricocheting all around him. They came closer and closer to hitting him until one did strike him in the right shoulder, then another in his right arm. He cried out instantaneously and the soldier relaxed as he approached the car to check out his kill.

Greg finally ripped his shirt free and struggled out from underneath the car but could not regain his feet, nor pick up the rifle. He wanted so badly to run but the bullet wounds coupled with the probable rib fractures he sustained earlier made him immobile. He rolled over and looked up at the sky, now blackened with smoke. "How did it come to this…?" Greg wondered to himself. He was bleeding profusely from his right side and his internal injuries should have been enough to render him unconscious. Yet there he lay, barely awake, imagining a clear blue sky would roll over and he would wake from this horrible nightmare, safe and sound in his bed. But no such wish was granted. This was reality, however bleak it might be, and it was here, lying on the pavement of a battered parking lot, that he would meet his end. The soldier came up to Greg, towered over him, and kicked him hard. Greg barely felt it as life was slipping away from him; his vision was starting to blur and color was draining from him. He heard the drone of a horn, gunfire and slamming but could not focus his vision to see what was happening. He assumed the worst as he fell into darkness.

End of Chapter One


End file.
